Goodbye Until Tomorrow
by Gilly.Flowers
Summary: But she had to stick it out, she knew, if she was going to get on any further with her plans. Post-movie.
1. Chapter 1

**A.N. Hello world, here's the prologue of a small fic I'm planning on doing. Emphasis on _planning_. R&amp;R, darling! - Gily**

* * *

In a fit of insolent contempt Julia shoved the half naked body to the ground, the stolen, mellifluous blood feeling caustic inside her body - as if it _knew _it did not belong there, but rather in the broken human remains lying forgotten in a mound of mud.

She felt blind. There was a wet coldness on her skin that she could barely feel, and a dull wish in her head to see Barnabas. Julia licked her lips, scratching her tongue on her enlarged canines.

...how dare he _murder_ her. The blunted mentality sharpened almost dizzyingly fast, the wrenching in her gut no longer ignored. Something inside her was telling her to go to him. She mistook it for revenge.

Julia drew away, following her instincts, dismissing the bells that rang with fervid truth: cover your tracks, Hoffman. As she gained a strength, a tightness, a sex drive, she cared little for what the world around her saw as unjust and unlawful. She was going to town.

* * *

Looking over Willie and his puke-ish attire, Julia felt a sudden appreciation. Everything seemed to be falling at her feet, ready to be stepped on during her climb to victory. As if, in order to gain forgiveness of setting up the circumstances that headed to her demise, the Heavens were now, in turn, setting them up for her success.

She could have buzzed with happiness, if she felt anything other than anger.

Willie mumbled something under his breath, about his master's concern for his whereabouts, and Julia patted his shoulder, forcing him down into a table. "Okay okay, now you stay here, Will. Or I'll bite you again."

Willie shuddered, ducking his face into his mug of fowl-smelling beer. Julia started across the bar, her nerve-endings highly sensitive, aware of all the eyes on _her_.

"Aye, Dr. Hoffmint."

She snarlingly corrected him over her shoulder, waving away the bartender as she sat, well away from the entrance.

"Whatever, Doc." Willie whispered. Julia had to really focus to hear his drunken drawls. "Master Collins likes it when I stay closer than this... I'm gonna get in trouble." The housekeep sang, lifting his glass.

Julia wanted a personal slave. Why should Barnabas have one, and not her? Only, she'd get one a hell of a lot better than Willie. One more appealing to look at, too.

Julia ran the pad of her thumb over the face of her lighter, rubbing disinterestedly over a smattering of blood, as her other hand held a cigarette between her painted lips. The stench of dried piss and split booze - already abrasive to the mortals - vehemently invaded her agitated senses, causing the monstrous fire quenched by her recent feeding to arise in her head. But she had to stick it out, she knew, if she was going to get on any further with her plans.

Peering through her squinted eyes, she flicked awake the snapping flame, struggling momentarily before she dipped the end of her cigarette in and drew it back out, inhaling. Already, she could feel the tightness of her skin beginning to wane. She ignored it. She ran her fingers through her hair, encouraging the opposite sex; and her hair turned to brittle straw in her hand. She pretended it wasn't happening. A dull ache settled in, like mice burrowed in her joints for the long bitter winter of middle-age and beyond, a dull ache in her lower back and in her knees. She shifted around in her stool until it was less prominent, her foot starting to tap, tap-tap-tapping, her lips clinging desperately onto her cigarette, her dead heart swooping out of its cage to freeze her emptying stomach.

Julia slapped a hand down, flagging the bartender. "A vodka stinger, baby."

A twang of panic slapped her square on the face, and she looked away, the bartender's face having dropped as he stopped in front of the woman he vigorously remembered, only twenty years older. His hesitation, his asinine bewilderment reinforced the plans in her head, and she gulped down more drink than she could take, not thinking of how essential it was to take these simple acts slowly. The alcohol was a terrible shock, her mouth, esophagus, her stomach collapsing, fried, and she choked, vomiting it all up into her mouth.

Julia covered her mouth, wrenching out the cigarette and pushing out her stool. Standing, tears blurring her vision, she shouldered through people, throwing herself on the bathroom door and dropping in front of a toilet, releasing the vile in her mouth. Her nose burned, her lungs heaving despite the need for oxygen long being extinguished by death. Viciously Julia wiped her face off with her sleeve, spitting and gagging. "Fuck you Barnabas Collins," She hissed, her icy voice full of tears.

From the stall to her left, she heard a very drunk commend, "Yea, _fuck 'em_, th' bastard... Getting you fat and pregn'nt an' then just - _le'vin_' y' - you - like you're not _human..._ or somethin'..."

"I'm not pregnant," Julia barked, using the rim of the public toilet to push her standing. Her knees crackled in protest, which she damned them for.

As an after-thought, Julia added, her smile somewhat wolfish, "I'm not human either."

"I wasn' saying anything, girl. Little Frankie got me pregnant, _twice_. Fuck, I'm pregn'nt now. I don't learn -" The voice in the stall began to cry, and Julia groaned, rolling her eyes. She didn't have time for sympathy in her after-life.

Julia leaned her hands on the sink, the running water drowning out the sobs that bounced around in the cramped tiled room. After a long time of staring into the rushing cascade of suspiciously colored liquid, Julia lifted her eyes to the image in the dingy mirror. Her legs nearly gave out beneath her.

Her eye sockets were sunken in, her skin hanging off her skull like a white, wrinkled sheet draped loosely on a canvas. Tiny brown spots, like worm holes, disgusting, _ugly _imperfections, splattered across her face, her hair line festering a growing wound of grey. She looked decayed, rotting away like a Spinx in his tomb.

Hatred burned in her feeble insides, her black eyes flaring with murderous purpose, and she vowed in the lugubrious restroom that she would exact her revenge on her undoer. She would get what she wanted, now that it was so close. And yet farther than she's ever known.

But first...

"My baby's name is - is Brittany, isn't that such a good _choice_? She looks like a Brittany -" The voice croaked, succumbing to another brain-busting wail before the voice dropped off.

Julia licked her lips, dark calculating passing through her gaze as she turned to face the row of stalls. She could hardly hear the words being spoken, but somehow she coaxed the voice to unlatched the stall door and materialize into living flesh for her to use. Remorseless, ruthless, Julia drew the mother into her arms, smiling the smile of a demon, and broke her.

Julia torn out her throat before the trashy-dressed mother could think to scream, and with the shriveling, the draining of her humanity, her life, Julia grew beautiful once again. She felt strength rippling through her bones, her hair shimmering and curling, her breasts ample. A husk fell from her hands, crumbling on the ground in a grotesque pile, Julia having sucked every last morsel of blood out of it.

She wondered if the material evidence would be easy to slice with her nails, and if the plumbing of the ancient bar would agree to cooperate.

When Julia slid back onto her stool, her glass had been refilled and the bartender gaped incredulous, his shameless, if not vastly confused eyes raking hungrily over her voluptuous form as she came sashaying out of the shadows. She pulled another cigarette out of her pack. The smell of the bar was less acerbic, easily forgotten about as vanity dulled her senses as much as the - careful - sips of alcohol.

Her hearing was a level above that of the normal humanity, but only a level. She knew for a certainty Barnabas' was sharper than a canine's - he told her himself! - and, among similar things, that was what irked her so. She came from a sad, mediocre line of men who believed hitting their women was the solution, and women who believed the solution was scotch. She shed herself of all that caustic relations, rising high by way of education and moral work, by helping others, by taking as she needed. She was not lesser than Barnabas Collins. She was not less in intelligence, beauty, background, or race, and especially not class (Barnabas' high stature had gone extinct years ago, while he lay in a box underground). If she was being honest, she, a woman of present - present being key - society, she was _more _than he could possibly be or become.

But she was a lesser vampire. Barnabas had taken that chance of being equal away from her. He left her for dead, as a _half-breed_. And she hated him for it.

Julia resisted the urge to throw a chair through the wall. Knowing her half-immortality, she'd probably merely break the plaster, and that thought had her biting her tongue in blind rage.

Her hearing was a level above that of the normal humanity, but only a level; clearly, though the constant threat of being muffled by a thousand whispers was prominent, she heard the door to the bar open. Briefly, she thought she felt the chill nip of October air from where she sat, hidden. Nonchalant, she turned her head, her bloody lips stretching once she caught sight of _him_.

Barnabas crept into the smoky bar, slinking through a loose crowd to where Willie sat, playing the coveted role of bait. They exchanged words. Julia inhaled her cigarette, watching with hooded eyes, inhaling still even as her cigarette shrank to the butt in mere seconds.

Julia slid off her seat and arranged herself provocatively against the bar, beaming in anticipation as she let go her hold on Willie. It was a game of waiting no longer. She could feel he had found her through the fog, like a tickle of her spine, and she subtly swayed her behind, enticing the opposite sex.

Hands wrapped around her throat, yanking her bodily off the wood. She was held flush against him, she could smell him, the dead scent they shared. Her smirk was strained, her chin tilted up, her body flinching further into his chest in an instinctive need to ease the tightness of his long fingers around her throat. She didn't need to breath, she knew, but she didn't mind their positions. Their meeting was almost erotic.

"Surprised to see me, Barnabas?" She asked, it taking time for her push out the words from her taunt neck. His lips touched her ear, and her smile flickered.

* * *

Julia's back hit the brick wall of the bar's alley, her tiny form jarring from the impact. Her teeth clashed, and she seethed, watching beneath eyelashes as Barnabas paced the stones. While his back was turned, she fixed her collar, exposing more cleavage. It was a psychological game, and she was determined to win. At least before he did.

Barnabas brushed off his trailing jacket, swiveling on his heels to confront her.

"You understand why I did what I did. Dr. Hoffman." It was not a question. He was raging; he was fighting to keep in check his emotions, his rampant, free-flying emotions. Underneath it all, she knew he was scared of her.

Pouting her lip, Julia fastened her hands behind her back, the rough wall scratching, and stuck out her pelvis. "I hardly think such rigid formality should apply to your murders." She breathed, her sultry voice making him pause. "Surely we're past that, Barnabas."

He shed his skin of misplaced lust and stepped close to tower over her, probing for control, sneering cruelly. "Julia -"

"_Ooh_, there you go."

"- If you harm _any _member of the Collins family, I swear to God I'll -"

Julia's hands snatched out faster than he could comprehend - later, he deduced it to the newness of her powers - and she yanked him on top of her by his lapels. His fingers splayed out on the brick on either side of her head, and staring down at her, he gulped.

"Gee, that sounded awful familiar," She chewed out lowly, the acrimony of her tone startling him.

Julia smashed her lips to his in a resentful, fiery kiss. She looped an arm around his neck, locking him there as she purred, working her mouth against his own. Barnabas dug his nails into her hips, clawing her closer, giving in to his body's urges. He never had Julia before, though her sweet, perfect mouth had once been wrapped around his - lower region, and he'd be a terrible liar if he denied the scenario had often crossed his mind at Collinswood. Her awe-striking oral talents had planted weeds in the garden of his subconscious, and now, with her squirming and moaning at his fingertips - he would kill if someone tried to separate him from her. Not even Victoria's presence could tear him away.

Her hand tangled through his hair, his own dipping down to grip her thigh, hoisting it up onto his hip. If he were able to think, he would have sensed her eyes on him, watching, winning. Barnabas tugged blindly at her zipper, his teeth nipping her bottom lip. His trousers were unbearably tight, heat blossoming inside him.

She pulled away, resting the back of her head against the brick, her lips parted and her smirk devilishly seductive. "Are yah gonna fuck me in the alleyway, Barnabas?"

Such vulgarity from a lady excited him, and he placed a wobbly kiss on her forehead. Old feelings tugged at her heart, and Julia gave in a little, just for now. "If milady wishes." He felt her body stiffen beneath his kiss, then felt her tiny hand slipping into his trousers. She had undid his belt at one point, without his knowing.

It had been so long, Julia vaguely thought, spinning their hot melded bodies around so it was Barnabas now pinned between her and solidity. It had been so long since she caused sexual desire, sexual fulfillment. It had been longer still since she had been on the _receiving _end.

Now was not the time for indulgences, however. She could feel the toils and knots beneath her artificial youth growing worn and flaccid, she needed to exact right then or fall apart like a rotting corpse.

Teasingly, she drew slow, firm strokes along his member, leaning on her tiptoes to flutter kisses on his neck, half listening to his heavy breath, half listening to the sound of someone else's blood crawling through his veins. She nipped, testing the waters, flicking her tongue out to taste his pulse point, purring along with his groans.

Her zipper plunged down the track, and her dress splayed open, exposing her working shoulders. Fangs sunk painfully into his skin, drawing out his blood as soon as they touched the nape of his neck. He yelped, releasing in Julia's hand, clawing desperately at the folds of her obstructive clothing.

Barnabas' breathing finally regulated, his drowsy head clearing, and he grimaced, Julia's drinking having pinched him one too many times. He snapped her head back by her hair, the brash removal of her teeth lacerating his skin. Forcefully, he held her to him, ravaging her mouth with his own, his wounds healing a little slower than normal.

Julia grabbed his shoulders; never having felt this amount of physical strength, she shoved him away, and his back indented the bricks. "Think about me," She said into his ear, smiling crookedly. Then vanished into the night. Darkness swirled in on him, dizzying his mind in a tornado of light-headedness, weakness, faintness.

Barnabas dropped to his knees, unable to keep himself out of the predacious black.

She hoped he thought of her constantly, and _hopefully_, as a bonus, ruined his relationship with the bug-eyed baby sitter. She hoped his life crumbled by her own hand, while she enjoyed fully fledged immortality on the other side of the world.

But the blood in her veins would not last, she was yet to discover.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello! This is the second chapter of this lovely story, and I gotta say it's definitely a lot lighter than the first hahaha! (Btw I tried very hard to imply unhappiness within the Collins/Winters marital dynamic, so watch out for it because it's loosey-goosey!) -Gillies**

* * *

Barnabas sat at the head of a grand table, his stiff suit unbuttoned. The table was empty, electric candles flickering amidst the centrepieces, looming chairs onerously pulled out. Soft music played from else where in the manor, absorbing through the walls to just touch his ear with lover's jazz and classical.

Victoria, clad in a white chiffon gown, wafted aimlessly into the dining room, her black eyes catching Barnabas'. "What are you doing?" Her voice was gentle, as though she were talking in her sleep. Her skin shone in the dimness like she was the Goddess of the Moon, and he affirmed his love for her.

Barnabas rose, sliding an unbroken letter into his coat pocket before he turned to see her. "Absolutely nothing. Shall we walk the gardens?"

Victoria accepted his arm, still looking up at him as they drifted out into the night, two calm souls.

When the sky began to lighten and the sun rose, Victoria bathed in lavender and slept. Barnabas would touch her hand and leave their bedroom, walking the manor and glimpsing the sunrise with mild appraising when he passed a window. The morning hours were when his sense of restlessness was most keen; sharp, even. And he soon found the only way to sate the plucking of his soul was to distance himself from his vampire wife, and be aimless in the many auburn hallways.

He and Victoria had resettled far from Maine, having scrapped together what was left of the Collins' money and divided it between him and his cousin Elizabeth. Now they lived in Iceland; their only contact with the outside world being the monthly letters from David, in Chicago.

Victoria and Barnabas would read his letters together, seated contently on a French settee. The glowing fire illuminated all. Barnabas would kiss Victoria, and urge her to reply so young Master David - who wasn't so young anymore - would not have to wait too long.

One morning, after Barnabas disappeared to stalk the halls of the manor, slightly desperate and alone, Victoria had also risen from bed to open the dresser doors, and pick a pristine invitation out of her lover's coat pocket.

She vowed not to be sneaky about the letter, vowed to never mention it until he did. But he didn't. And so after he kept the letter, hidden, for nearly a fortnight, she was inclined to read it.

"Barnabas," a softness, like spring wind, sweetened her voices ce, and he did not have to lift his eyes to know who was speaking.

"Yes,"

"Julia Hoffman sent an invitation and you hid it from me."

Barnabas was chilled. Victoria continued, her sweetness burdened by hurt feelings. "Why didn't you tell me? Would you have gone without me? Darling, are you sick of -"

"I could never grow sick of you, my dear Josette." Barnabas looked at her pouting face then, turning away from the sunrise in the bay window, and smiled. "I love you."

Victoria floated to his side. He wrapped his arm around her and she touched his chest. "And I love you. Tell me why you hid the letter."

Barnabas sighed, pressing tender kisses on her forehead, subduing her like a child. "...I don't care to see Dr. Hoffman."

"But why, my love?"

He frowned. "_She_ abandoned us. Don't you remember, Victoria? Little David needed her very much and she vanished in the middle of the night. I do not trust her."

"She had a family emergency, Barnabas. Like Elizabeth said." Victoria drew out of his embrace, her brow drawn tight.

"...it is no excuse."

"Barnabas, really." She was shocked.

"My dear, I'm very tired. I shouldn't like to think of it."

"Well Barnabas I think we should accept her invite. You two need to make amends."

"Absolutely not." He huffed, offended by the mere idea. He paced back to the bedroom, a determined Victoria following suit.

"You must. Darling do it for me! Julia was a good friend, I hate this beef you have with her. She said in the letter she's throwing a grand party, we will go and -"

"I will not."

"Oh you're a complete _man_!" Victoria was swept up into his arms, still fuming as he kissed her.

"You look very sweet when you're angry." He mumbled in her ear, hoping she'd forget.

Victoria sighed woefully, glaring playfully at him. "Well, I'll just have to go without you then. I've already told Julia she should expect us, but -"

"You?" Barnabas gawked, "you - you accepted?"

Victoria was pleased to have him in a very sudden, very clear trap. And she felt ruthless. "Why yes. Of course I did."

"Vic -"

"No I completely understand, Barnabas. You don't want to go and I won't try to make you, not anymore."

The old vampire grabbed her hands in his, a fearful look on his pasty white face. "Victoria," he started, and she lifted her coy eyes in befuddlement as he spoke very sternly.

"I cannot let you fly to Paris by yourself, it's simply unheard of -"

"Oh Barnabas, its a new era for women, we can do anything we set our minds to." She was having a lot of fun despite his fowl mood.

"So be it, but I could never allow you to be alone with that - that -"

"She's my friend and I miss her. Barnabas I'm going with or without you."

He dropped his head onto her frail shoulder, utterly defeated.

Before they knew it the ghostly pair were seated on an airplane, flying over beautiful scenery, stopping first in Montreal, then Paris.

"Do you really hate her?"

His spoon paused in his tea saucer, the swirling blackness mirroring the rainy sky. They were in their hotel room, lounging on the balcony to savour the weather before it began to storm.

"Who?" He was bidding time.

Lithe skeletal fingers swept across the table, covering his much larger hand with her own. "Dr. Hoffman."

The breath she spoke from was edged, toothed like a kitten.

And so, "No, not at all, my love." He replied, similarly. Barnabas tossed his coffee over the balcony, set the exquisite china back on the table, and disappeared in the lavatory.

Victoria's eyes left the closed door, choosing instead to watch her ring try to twinkle in moody light.

The party was this evening. She hoped, for appearances sake, that she could keep her marriage together before then.


	3. Chapter 3

**I tried to keep this short but... At least Vicky and Barnabas are _finally_ at Julia's party, right? R&amp;R my sweet - Gillies **

* * *

Fleeing to Paris was the best idea Dr. Julia Hoffman, PhD. ever had.

The underground life of Paris embraced Julia like a saint, fervidly cocooning her half undead body the moment she arrived off an international mail plane. Even the rats between her toes seemed to be filled with this addictive substance, brimming with jazz and booze and cocaine and limelight; the same substance that lined the back alley walls and shone through the labyrinth of neon lights.

The scantily dressed French women were weak when Julia snatched them up, the frail bones of their wrists grinding against each other. And they all frankly liked it, whatever 'it' was. The pliable French boys wore dirty red ascots and in glum smokey cafes deep in the heart of Paris Nighttime, would kiss other boys.

The men were melancholy and poor, drinking in bars only because they were able nothing else. Their eyes were moist and their moustaches drooped into their frowns, as their souls wrung inside them, gentle almost philosophical murmurs from the singer in dimming light barely touching them.

The working class sprawled on the corner stones. Fumes of opium and marijuana and urine swirled from one side of the street to the other. The whores hissed gratefully when she bit down, caked powder sweeping into her mouth along with their blood.

And her favourite type of Parisian, the poetic druggies would often refer to her as their 'Juliet' moments before orgasm and death. Julia poured love into their couplings, because they were always the most attentive, the most in awe; these people worshipped her beauty and intelligence each time she encountered them. She was nearly as wonderful as the pierce of a needle.

And Julia found she would stay a very healthy vampire for nearly twice as long in consequence of their blood.

Making her way through the scum underbelly of Paris, Julia passed from hotel room to bar to seedy bathroom to apartment to apartment. Each lover she took left her a variety of clothing, and personal items, they built a steady staircase to the bourgeoisie.

From time to time Julia stuck to one individual, fondling and kissing and whispering French as if she were a native to sex under the Eiffel Tower. She grew a creative, exciting relationship with people younger than her and older than her. Some were chaotic and angry, some were tender and filled with lust. Some were fucking depressing.

Out of these people, each special in their own way, Julia gained acquaintances that had worth, and took over their progressive addresses after death. Out of these people she regathered her humanity and started towards healing. But it was a slow trek.

Now, her main income being a rich English lawyer, Julia lived in a top floor apartment overlooking the channel, bustling with the same empty heart throb and celebration as in the shady clubs.

Her provocative clothes became lacy and smothered in jewels, her loose panties threaded with silver, her fluctuating immortality made almost unnoticeable with expensive make up and diamond earrings.

The nights were alive with the light of her eyes, dazzling light flooding the apartment. Julia was surrounded constantly, forgetting almost immediately how it felt to be alone. She didn't miss loneliness, and for a while her vapid crowds smoking and laughing with wine stained teeth were enough.

The night before the party she entertained a small clutch of bourgeois. Her beau, Sir Charles Charleston, having financed the affair, attended amiably. Julia clung to him, sipping her magic glass (called such because it miraculously never emptied!) with eyes locked on his. Then she would lead a stray man-pup to her balcony and let him cling to her.

But of course that wasn't to say she didn't love - well, _adore_ Charles. He was still very handsome, otherwise it wouldn't have been bearable to sleep so close to him. To play such a role for him.

Sir Charles never brought up her flamboyant infidelity. So when she strayed, frequently, with both men and women, Charles was observed scathingly by other tossed aside guests; they begrudgingly applauded him, cynically condemned him, for gallantly keeping his smile and looking the other way when he noticed (he always noticed) Julia grinning at some special interest of hers. The tiny woman had just always been.. impulsive, when it came to prospective partners. He came to accept her for fear of losing her.

Why does he stay? you ask. Sir Charles struggled to accommodate and fit their lifestyles together, because the poor sap had it bad.

If Julia had met Sir Charles before Barnabas and her half-completed transition he would have been older than her. Up to the precipice of her new life Julia was around forty, give or take - she'd prefer take -, and he was in the midst of his roaring fifties. Perhaps that was were his willingness to sacrifice himself, the willingness to minor delusion came from.

Julia saw herself ageless now, or nearly, as the youth once dissolved like sand through her fingers suddenly flourished, and she seemed for the most part to grow younger and younger by the minute. The fanning of this fire was primarily consistent feeding, as Julia noted. Her accelerated although precarious recapturing of youth in turn emphasized the overall exigency to be wholly vampire.

Her small gathering dissipated around twelve, and the late evening found the two loitering around one another, their minds separate and full. The house was a mess.

Facing the "Will you go?" that drawled from opposite their sporadically shared bedroom, sir Charles ceased his languid assessment of his few personal items. He knew Julia would have much to do as she played the coveted role of hostess, blissfully unaware of the special guest whom held a worthy portion of the redhead's day to day thoughts would be making a appearance. But these parties were so often the significance ceased to enthral him, and he found it very easy to choose work over it, instead of vice versa.

The only notch was leaving Julia.

"Will I? No. Would I like to? -"

"Charles please," Julia snivelled, clenching her jaw at his impending sarcasm. Their gazes battled momentarily before he conceded in a smile that pinched his eyelids into pleased crescents.

"Yes. Yes, Julia, believe you me I want to go. I do not want to anger you, my love." His teeth flashed, watching her expectations fall, miscalculated. Julia abruptly closed her mouth, shaking her head at her own foolishness. Sir Charles wrapped his massive hands around her body, cradling her almost roughly in his embrace.

"But..?" She growled.

"But I'm flying to L.A. at four." He grumbled, kissing her petulantly.

"In the a.m.?"

"Exactly that."

Julia tutted, rubbing her hand soothingly down his chest. "Too bad." She didn't press, inwardly swelling with satisfaction. She didn't really want him around to distract her from her goals, but still needed the money to buy her fancy clothes and finger-foods.

He happily handed over his cheque book, after a short interlude of inappropriate touching. Her cheek was kissed and she as fast as politely possible closed the door on him when Charles left to pack more fully at his apartment up town. He promised Julia a token from his travels. She promised him an empty bed.

Julia's party planner, a whopping 6 foot woman with electric brown hair and piercing brown eyes, took control of the entirety of the apartment at ten in the morning, prepping the spacious loft for its next shindig, except for the single room where Julia herself slept.

The blinds held back all signs of high day, the cool floor no match for the dead cold of her feet as she rose sombrely, tripping to the shower. Articles of clothing licked her skin as she pulled and untied and unhooked, letting them fall where they wanted.

She stood under the spray, absent from the warmth that cocooned her naked body. Julia shut off the falling water and stepped out, fast droplets pooling where she touched the tiles of the bathroom.

A beautiful figure painted the foggy mirror, ignited orange hair swallowed up by a towel. She dressed.

Julia sat at the foot of her bed, expertly wrangling a sheer stocking up her thigh when a confident series of knocks pattered the bedroom door. "Yeah?" Julia gurgled, this being the first word she spoke that day.

Yolanda, the planner, opened the door and held it, her free hand clutching papers against her hip. "Hey,"

Julia waved crudely, settling the elastic securely around her mid thigh. She didn't bother to fold her skirt over her exposure.

"I just came to see if you were awake and to tell you the caterer called to confirm - he has most of the munch down all that's left to whip up is the red velvet oh-la-la. Hung over?"

Yolanda didn't need an answer and the two women exchanged playful grins before she closed the door and went to yell at a gardener whose slack clippers revealed his impotence.

Julia lifted off the mattress and checked herself out in a wall-length mirror, running a hand over her bum and poking between the open buttons of her blouse, playing with the measure of visible cleavage. Her semi-dry hair started to curl loosely, rising off her slender shoulders.

Julia's critical eyes abandoned her chest and watched the inanimate strands arrange themselves. A perk. She floated to a desk beside the window and opened a notebook; 'body recaptures both appearance and style of patient before time of death/transition. Normally brown, and straight, hair maintains bright orange dye and curls without the use of any exterior apparatus.' She jotted down in her clinical handwriting, then closed the book.

* * *

Victoria was the first to reach Julia's door, fashionably late, fitted neatly in a blue periwinkle dress that pinched her waist and fell mid shin. Barnabas appeared a few seconds after, wearing a modern shirt and pants and a cautious frown.

"See? We're alive, sugar." Vic offered, beaming excitement, pleasure curling her lips at her own pet name.

Barnabas caught her eye with a sober expression, encircling her with his protective arm. "We haven't opened the door yet."


	4. Chapter 4

**This story is writing itself. It's my child and I love it dearly. Enjoy. R&amp;R -Gillies**

* * *

A white fist, poised in the air, paused in its descent towards the wood door. "Oh, she's coming." Victoria's eyes diluted as she listened, and merely a second after her last vowel peeped out of her lips Julia opened the door and greeted them with the wickedest grin.

"Hello Mr. And Mrs. Collins." She sang, her eyes skimming Barnabas then locking on Victoria's. "Come in,"

Victoria jumped at the chance, and though his claws sank into her arm in protest she dragged Barnabas with her. "Julia it's so good to see you! You look great!"

The redhead tutted, leading the ghostly couple to the party. "It's been too long. I almost expected you to refuse my invitation; I guess my self-esteem is still a bit low," Julia paused to pull Victoria into a hug the former stewardess was shaking for. Victoria buried her face in Julia's hair, squeezing; Julia smiled provocatively at Barnabas.

Barnabas, in furious response, reached to yank his young wife out of the Devil's arms. But Julia, anticipating it, swept her away before the old vampire could so much as gasp.

He knew this was a bad idea. Quite obviously Julia Hoffman was up to something, and his Josette was being abused as a pawn in her sick game. Anxiety solidified in his stomach, and he stalked for the door. He would not give in.

He could not leave. Just as his abnormally long fingers touched the doorknob, a sound drove a knife into him, twisting an unknown entity within the depths of his chest. Julia had laughed; a loud, happy cackle that seemed to have the same effect an everyone else, for the chatter died and only the bliss of her voice rang true. He could not abandon it.

Miserable, Barnabas loitered within the darkness of the hallway, watching pensively for Julia's next move. He decided his reaction to her was merely suspicion. Julia Hoffman did not laugh unless she was stabbing someone's back.

His mind drifted back to that fateful night, his eyes burying into the vibrant, familiar orange of her hair. Part of his discomfort was the untold story of his and Julia's reunion. He was afraid she would tell his wife, to hurt their happiness. He hated her so much.

Their transgression was one he regretted. He didn't know what made him so delirious as to make love to her, to loose so much control that he allowed his festering wound of lust for her to grow into palpable action.

By the time he regained consciousness in the back alley Julia was long gone. The only evidence left was the dried mess on the front of his pants and the disfigured brick wall of the bar. Willie, standing obediently in front of him, kicking his foot, said he didn't remember seeing Dr. Hoffman at all, not since they dumped her body over the side of his boat. He was bruised from a brawl and drooping from his hang-over.

Barnabas vowed good riddance and beckoned Willie close, drinking gratefully from his old neck. He let go only when Willie started to cry out and convulse. He wondered what became of him. He wondered if he married, despite his scars and old age.

Barnabas' spine jolted ramrod straight, his wild eyes throwing around the room to locate any sign of his favourite periwinkle dress. A cold sweat broke out over his entire body; where did they go?!

"So, how's everyone?"

In a much more intimate setting, Victoria suddenly felt shy. Her and Julia were standing very close on the balcony, she examining the brilliant city lights and stars, Julia examining her. She covered the raised hairs on the back for her neck with a nonchalant hand.

"The Collins? Or us?" She peeped, looking back at her long lost friend. Friend. Was that what Julia Hoffman was? Or her therapist?

"Everyone." There was an abrupt shift in her voice that caught Vic's entire body's attention; Julia pleaded.

Victoria couldn't help herself, she jumped into Julia's arms and squeezed her again. "They're okay. Elizabeth resettled the family in Maine," a certain, intangible relief wafted through her, knowing Julia still cared about them. Perhaps that was what that odd churning in her gut had been on the way to the party. She was worried Julia would be changed, beyond Collinswood and all that transpired there. She nearly blushed.

"Maine? Did they sell the manor?" Julia mumbled. She remembered pestering Liz about selling the crappy dump but she never in a million years thought she would actually do it. That old house was their legacy. The first thing that had drawn a young Julia Hoffman in all those years ago. She felt ill and confused, realizing how much she missed in their lives.

Victoria gasped, pulling back to see her _friend's_ face. "Oh! You don't know, huh?" Julia's eyes narrowed under scrutiny. "The whole thing went up in smoke three years ago. Everything's gone. They considered rebuilding but you can imagine the cost was tremendous and Liz decided pretty early on to just forget about it and move on. Didn't she write you?"

Taking it all in, Julia merely shook her head. Collinswood burned down. Her family lost nearly everything and experienced a seriously traumatic event and she was in fucking Europe, _fucking_. A chilly thought overtook her, "did... Anyone..?"

"Die? No, thank god." _Except for me... And Angelique._ Victoria mused, comfortingly running her hand along Julia's arm. "They're okay." She repeated.

She had enough of this guilty, sappy feeling. Julia locked away that genuine person and focused on revenge, on her goals. "Well.. That's a relief," she breathed, her smile veering smug as she lifted her eyes to Victoria's. "You've changed so much, you know."

Victoria unfolded bodily away from Julia. "Huh?"

"It's not a bad thing, dear." The redhead purred, moving further from the door. Beside the edge of the balcony, the two overlooked a grand scale of brilliant lights, scattered yellow dots outlining the city's body. The Eiffel Tower glowed luminously against a dark purple sky.

Julia continued, "you used to be so tight lipped. You never talked so openly with me. In our sessions" she gauged her reaction from beneath her eyelashes, the light pink rising on Vic's chest and neck clueing she remembered exactly what Julia wanted her to. "Your vagueness was formidable. But now I can see you've healed that child inside you, or at least are well on the path. Don't you think so?"

Over the past years, since the last time she had been in Julia's snug office below the manor, Victoria was very proud to say she had healed. It was love. Perhaps not the same love she reciprocated these days, but that was what she believed coaxed herself out of the cold hard barriers she's erected.

When Barnabas saved her... Took her in his arms and changed her, she in turn revealed to him every aspect of her soul, piece by piece until finally that serene level of sharing warded off any doubt or pain. She felt whole, standing next to him. Because he loved her wholly. Because the Collins family loved her.

But looking at Julia, completely vulnerable, she felt the weight of her relationship like never before. She felt the lost thread that lured her to the doctor, tugging persistently as it knew, as did she, that they'd be apart again. Soon. Tears tickled within; by a precocious strength she did not shed them.

"Yes..." She gulped. She knew now she did not love Barnabas like she used to. Like she _thought_ she used to. Barnabas didn't love her either. The possessive ghost, remaining with her and her husband told her so without having to say a word. She knew Barnabas only saw Josette when he looked at her, when he kissed her; even when he called her Victoria. It was only in the presence of Dr. Hoffman that she could possibly let herself acknowledge that single, eternal reality.

Julia's pure smile, the happily hurting crescents of her eyes yanked the former stewardess' anguish out of her. She couldn't leave her. And when she whispered those innocent words, Victoria's world tilted on its axis, into Julia.

"I missed you."

The mousy girl fell onto her, her trembling white hands clasping her cheeks and her trembling white lips touched hers, and lingered.

Pleasure rippled through her when she felt Julia's arms wrap securely around her, melting their bodies together; just as they had three years ago, hidden away in the doctor's snug office.

Things were going better than Julia anticipated.

* * *

**I am a hopeless lesbian. I'm working on the fourth chapter as we speak, don't forget about me! -Gillies**


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